That Man
by Eveilae
Summary: COMPLETE. Elicia's life without her father, and what she does with herself with the people she has left. Not pure romance, but definately some WrathxElicia.
1. Part One

**I was reading a random royxed (feat. a _devious_ Maes Hughes doing his daughter's hair squeaks CUTE) when I wondered what Elicia would grow up to be like without that man around. **

**NOTE: Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me. Ira and the other names mean Wrath in different languages. There may be errors in grammar and there are definitely MAJOR spoilers. I REPEAT, MAJOR SPOILERS! Also, the format might be a bit hard to read. If it's that difficult, flame. Maybe I'll post a different version that's easier to read. If it's not, review with happy thoughts!**

**Bob Ross: Happy clouds!**

**No. Not happy clouds. But please, beat the devil out of the brush.**

**EDIT: What. The. Blazes? How did this turn into a love story on me! I have no control of my own fics. How wonderful. WrathxElicia? Well, I can say I've never seen one of _those_ before. Besides this one. Implied RoyxRiza.**

**SECOND EDIT: Thanks to Nelja I realized I made a huge mistake. DUH, Wrath can't practice alchemy without Ed's arm and leg. That is now FIXED. Also, I added a few things said Nelja requested (I'm nice that way, haha) so I split this one shot into two parts. I'm also going to write a tiny oneshot about a scene from Elicia and Wrath's childhood (once again a request from Nelja).**

**AND SO I PRESENT TO YOU:**

**The One-Shot I Wrote Instead of Updated My Other Fics**

**AKA**

**That Man.**

Everyone tells me I remind them of my father.

I barely remember that man. All I can pick out of my memory are those little moment, you know? A tug on my pigtails. A flash of a camera. Warm hands tucking me into bed.

Or were those my mother's hands? Winry tugging at my hair? Roy taking a picture? I can't be sure. I was too young to really know that man.

My father. Brigadier General Hughes. It says that on his gravestone. My mother took me every year on the day he died. On the day he was murdered. Sometimes I was so _angry_ at the people who stole away the man who should have raised me, who I should be able to remember. But then I remembered that they were already gone. Homunculi.

Well, most of them. They never told me what happened to that Wrath boy.

They all told me the story as best they could. After years of pestering, Roy took me aside on one of his many visits—away from my mother and Riza—and told me to come see him that night outside. I momentarily wondered if Roy was turning into a pedophile in his old age, but I quickly dismissed the thought. Roy is the closest thing I've ever had to a father.

Also, Riza would no doubt shoot his hands off if he laid a hand on me in _that_ way, anyway.

And that night he told me. Edward and Alphonse Elric. The Philosopher's Stone. The massacre at Ishbal. I almost couldn't believe it. Al had gone through all those things? And he didn't remember any of it?

He was almost like me. He had lost memories that should have been some of the most important ones to him. He had lost his brother, just as I lost my father.

Sometimes I feel like I wanted to kill God for whisking my father away to be at his side.

And then I remember I don't believe in God.

Brave. Strong. Protective. Smart. Those are words everyone's used to describe my father. Why did he have to be the way he was? All those things only got him killed. If he hadn't been brave, or strong, or protective, or smart he might still be with me.

I can practically hear everyone answering me. He wouldn't be the Maes Hughes that my mother had married, that everyone had loved if he hadn't been any of those things.

I wanted to be like him. I wished I could believe there was a heaven, just so I could image that he was looking down at me and felt pride swell in his chest. I wanted people to be able to say, _Hey, there goes Maes Hughes's daughter. Doesn't she follow after her father? _That's why I began studying alchemy behind my mother's back.

I began with the small things, making little figures, shaping them carefully in my hands. I got better and better, although I didn't know how good I was until much later, when I had someone to compare myself to.

The first time I showed Roy what I had learned, he chuckled gently, but didn't say anything. I was hurt, thinking that maybe I was horrible at alchemy. I had nearly convinced myself to stop studying it when Roy handed me a pair of gloves. They looked like the ones he always wore, but the transmutation circles were on my palms, sewn in green. He gave them to me without a word, but I knew what he wanted to say. Words would have only made the moment awkward. He was proud.

I especially enjoy making my own perfect shaped throwing knives with scraps of metal. Eventually I learned to make the sharpest weapons you ever saw in the blink of an eye. But like I said, not until much later.

My mother would have hated it, and I knew that, even at twelve. She always said that alchemy was too dangerous. That my father hadn't even practiced it, and it had hurt him. So I confided in Al instead, who was known to be quite the expert alchemist around Central. He taught me what he 'deemed appropriate.' Roy and Alex Armstrong taught me the rest.

I met _him_ while studying. He was a couple of years older, maybe five. That would have made him, let's see, nineteen when we first spotted each other in the woods. His long black hair was wrapped into a tight braid, which reminded me of those pictures they had of the Fullmetal Alchemist—Edward Elric. Although I didn't know it then, there were scars on his shoulder where his skin seemed to change tone, and his left leg was made of metal. He didn't explain it to me for a long time.

He was in the middle of doing some sort of trick with alchemy when I called out to him.

It was _my_ secret spot, after all. That small batch of trees pressed so tightly together that you could barely see into them was where I would go to practice my alchemy, or just to think. This guy thought I would just give it up without a fight?

He had seemed about to snarl at me, like some sort of savage animal, but apparently changed his mind at the last second and smiled sheepishly instead. I asked him his name.

Ira.

The next time he told me Zorn. Vrede the next. Throughout the years I came to realize none of these were his real name. It didn't matter. He had extraordinary alchemistic talent, and he became my best friend, my comrade-in-arms, and at times, my teacher. I always called him Ira, after the first name he had ever claimed as his own in my presence.

When I told him who my father was, he almost seemed guilty, though I don't know why. When I asked him if he had ever met my father (though it seemed to be unlikely) he told me that he had simply heard of him, and was surprised that this was such a small world. The subject had been dropped.

For some reason, I never told anyone too much about Ira. It was an unspoken rule between us, that he didn't want too much attention drawn to himself. I followed this rule without asking questions. That was another rule. No questions.

I always wondered what my father would have thought of Ira. I didn't know. I had barely known the man, after all.

When I was eighteen years old, my mother became sickly, and died several months later. It broke my heart, not only watching her suffer and die slowly, but how sudden her death was, even after months of notice. Though everyone tried to comfort me, only Ira really could. He even came with me to the graves of my parents, which was surprising. Ira never joined a large crowd of people. It brought my spirits up to see that he would do something adverse to his nature just for me. He didn't say anything, as I stood there, not a single tear falling.

I delved into alchemy more than ever before. I had never told my mother. It didn't matter now.

Al came back to Central after years away, studying for ways to find his missing brother, and we would sit for hours, talking about what he had seen on his travels, about my mother, about what had happened since in his absence. He was the first to meet Ira. I was at the library, waiting for Ira when Al came up to me, expressing his happy surprise at seeing me.

I wasn't sure whether to send Al away or not. I decided not to. Al was a good friend, and I could trust him with Ira. I waved Ira over when I saw him approach. Ira seemed hesitant to come closer, but I coaxed him nearer. The two men stared at each other a long while, and Ira had without an expression on his face I couldn't quite read. When I introduced the two them to each other, they shook hands stiffly, examining each other carefully.

Al asked Ira if they had met before. He had the feeling this wasn't the first time they had met. Ira hastily reassured him they hadn't, with that look still in his eyes. Needless to see, I never brought them together purposely again for close to a decade. There was something Ira was hiding from me about Al, but I would never ask. That was the rule, no questions.

I wondered what my father would have said when I took the State Alchemist exam. Roy told me that just as my father had done for him, he would do for me. He would support me at all costs. Riza grudgingly agreed, though she told me she would trust her own aim with her pistols over some drawing on the ground _any day_.

Al and Ira both asked me the same questions, though separately. Are you sure? Are you willing to become a dog of the military?

If I wanted to make a difference, yes. If I wanted to become strong, like my father, yes.

Yes, a million times over.

So I took it.

And I passed.

I became the Knives Alchemist. I was good with the throwing knives, just like my father. I became a bit obsessed with them when I was fifteen. I felt that I needed some sort of connection with that man. And so I found myself agreeing with Riza. I liked my deadly accurate knives more than the flashy alchemy.

I saw less and less of Ira that year. It was almost as if he was avoiding me. Finally, after months upon months of missions, I found myself with a week of relative freedom. I went to see Ira where I knew he stayed, an abandoned house near the train station. He wasn't there.

How long had it been since I had last seen him? Weeks? A month? Months? I felt like crying. Had Ira really just upped and left without a word of notice?

Al. I fled from that place and searched for Al, just to be notified he was gone. He'd left several days away, while I myself had been away. Even Roy and Riza were gone, probably accompanying Al, to share their wisdom with him (or to look for a good place to retire, more likely, those old folk).

I found myself at my father's grave. I hadn't been there in several months, but the grave was anything but neglected. Maes Hughes had had many friends. I noticed there were tulips in the pile. Ah, so Havoc and Fuery had been there recently. They were at Central. I reminded myself to visit them as I sat down in front of the worn gravestone.

Hello, father. It's me, Elicia. I've become the Knives Alchemist, have I told you? I've also met a boy. His name is Ira. I don't know where he's gone. Al, Roy and Riza are gone. I can't trust any of my friends with this. So I'm here.

How does it feel to be dead?

You're going to find out soon enough, sweetheart.


	2. Part Two

**I was reading a random royxed (feat. a _devious_ Maes Hughes doing his daughter's hair squeaks CUTE) when I wondered what Elicia would grow up to be like without that man around. **

**NOTE: Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me. Ira and the other names mean Wrath in different languages. There may be errors in grammar and there are definitely MAJOR spoilers. I REPEAT, MAJOR SPOILERS! Also, the format might be a bit hard to read. If it's that difficult, flame. Maybe I'll post a different version that's easier to read. If it's not, review with happy thoughts!**

**Bob Ross: Happy clouds!**

**No. Not happy clouds. But please, beat the devil out of the brush.**

**EDIT: What. The. Blazes? How did this turn into a love story on me! I have no control of my own fics. How wonderful. WrathxElicia? Well, I can say I've never seen one of _those_ before. Besides this one. Implied RoyxRiza.**

**SECOND EDIT: Thanks to Nelja I realized I made a huge mistake. DUH, Wrath can't practice alchemy without Ed's arm and leg. That is now FIXED. Also, I added a few things said Nelja request (I'm nice that way, haha) so I split this one shot into two parts.**

**AND SO I PRESENT TO YOU:**

**The One-Shot I Wrote Instead of Updated My Other Fics**

**AKA**

**That Man.**

I spun around. It was him. It was my father. I recognized him from the pictures. But he was _dead_. How could it be?

In a flash of light, my father turned into my mother.

My mother looked down at herself and grinned. This wasn't my mother, my gentle, loving mother. The smile was too wide, the stance too broad, the hair too short. The last time I took this form was the time I shot your father, she told me, the grin still plastered on her face.

Immediately, it all fell into place. Envy. The knives were in my hands before I could even think about it and they flew towards my mother. She dodges easily, and laughed. Like father, like daughter, she giggled. Then she turned into a tall figure, wear tight fitting clothing and with long spikes of green-black hair hanging over its face. Homunculi.

Greet your father for me, he whispered as he ran towards me and—

Ira was there and he was pushing Envy away. Envy landed heavily on his back, several feet away, knocking over a number of gravestones in the process, but I knew it would take more than that to hurt him. I decided that this is the best time to run, so I grabbed Ira's hand and we ran. We didn't stop; we didn't even look at each other. We just ran, it didn't matter where.

All we heard as we left the graveyard was an angry bellow.

Wrath.

We collapsed in a tired heap in the library. It took us several minutes before we could speak. But as soon as I could, I did.

Wrath, I asked him. Is that your real name?

He didn't answer. No questions, I remembered suddenly. But that didn't matter to me anymore. If he was really Wrath then . . . he had been lying to me the whole time. That had been another rule, one set down silently by me. No lies. Secrets, yes. But no lies.

Why didn't you tell me? I knew why he hadn't but I asked anyway. He didn't answer. We didn't talk about it. Our whole relationship was built on denial and we didn't know how to change it now. I stayed that next week at his house, feeling safe there, like usual. It had come to see Ira as a security blanket of sorts. It would take more than finding out his real name to break the habit. We talked and teased and trained, as if we were still Ira and Elicia, the mysterious alchemist and the Knives Alchemist.

Neither of us saw Envy that week. Or at least, that's what Ira told me. I believed him, because I trusted him, even then.

Even now.

The day I was due to leave for another insignificant mission, to oversee some mining in the north and report back in a few days, I spotted that same green-black hair in the crowd as I was about to climb onto the train. I knew he had done that on purpose—shown himself to me. I also knew I had to follow. I didn't have Ira to back me up, but I didn't care. I would avenge my father.

I thought I heard someone call my name. I ignored it.

He led me to an alley, where he turned and faced me, that same grin spread on his face. Should I turn into your father, so that you can see him, he asked me. One last time?

Shut up! I threw my knives at him, like I had the last time. He dodged them, like he had the last time. Except this time I had a plan. While he dodged, I dropped to the ground and drew a sloppy—

A kick interrupted by work and I found myself on the ground, gasping desperately for air. He was standing over me, and I could see the gun. Like father, like daughter. Had he said that, or had I?

It didn't matter. I closed my eyes and imagined my father, and my mother. I whispered a silently goodbye in my head to them. I whispered a goodbye to all my friends and this land.

No. This isn't the way I wanted to die. My father hadn't died like this, lying on the ground, waiting to die. He would have fought. He would get up and kick Envy's ass. And that's what I would do, too. I ripped off the necklace I was wearing, and I held it in the palm of my hand, morphing it into a tiny—but sharp—dagger. I plunged it into his leg.

The shot missed. Barely. I pulled myself up to my feet, and I faced the homunculi.

And he shifted into Ira. It was Ira's smile, Ira's shy gaze, Ira. Ira.

And it was Ira's hand that brought up the gun and pulled the trigger.

No. It was Ira who pulled me down at the last minute. It was Ira who covered my eyes. I heard a cry of surprise, and the scratching of chalk. I fought to get away from Ira, but his grip was too tight. I couldn't move, or see, a bit. But I heard the scream. I whispered Ira's name, and I curled up closer to him. I didn't want to see anymore.

When he let me go, I saw Al standing in front of me, a small man at his side. Behind them . . . a transmutation circle stained with . . . blood. Rags that could have belonged to Envy.

He was dead? He was dead, then. I just hadn't known there would be so much blood. My knives, which were still on in the ground from when I threw them at Envy, were drenched in red. I didn't want them back.

The man standing next to Al's hair was in a braid very much like Ira's. And his left arm—and if I was correct in my assumptions, his right leg as well—was made of metal. Could it be . . .?

He smiled at me widely, and greeted me friendlily. He said his name was Edward.

Edward Elric. How, I asked him. They told me you disappeared through the other side of the door. . .

I found a way through, Al said firmly, but he wouldn't speak any more of it. Neither would his brother. I wondered why that was . . . wouldn't they be glad that they could be together after all these years? They were serious. And they both completely ignored Ira.

I found out later how they had gotten Ed back to our world. Al had realized that only human transmutation would clear a path to the door. So he did it. I don't know who it was, and I don't think I ever want to find out. But that means there's another homunculi out there, somewhere. It worries me sometimes, but I've learned to not think about it.

Ira's still my security blanket.

I don't know what Al saw, but he was quite the same after he brought his brother back. What did he give up in exchange for his brother? The little bit of innocence he had left? His smiles are usually forced and sad. His eyes always look poignant. It seems that only Winry and Ed can stir any bit of happiness into him at all.

The three men walked me home, in complete silence the whole time. My mind was revolving with silent unanswered questions, but I didn't have the bravery to ask. I owed them my life, what favors could I possibly ask of them? I remembered fleetingly that I should have been at a mission at the moment.

Al, as if he had read my mind, told me not to worry about my mission, he would take care of it. So _responsible_, Ed teased lightly, but he looked proud. Then he turned to me, as studied me gravely. You're so much like your father, it scares me, he told me, a sad gleam in his eye. No doubt you're going to be completely obsessed with your kids, when you have them.

Then he looked at Ira, and his eyes grew cold. Wrath, he asked, how is your mother? Is Izumi still alive?

I saw Ira tense at the name, and I placed my hand on his shoulder gently, just so that he wouldn't do anything irrational. He shot me a pained look before turning back to Ed. Izumi? I remembered Al taking me to see one day, when I had first told Al that I was studying alchemy.

Al had asked her if she would teach me. This had shocked me as well as her, it seemed. With one glance we both seemed to agree with each other, Izumi and I. I would never have left my mother on her own, and she knew that she wouldn't have the strength to teach me. And so I went home.

This woman was Ira's mother? That strong, awe-inspiring, kinky-haired woman? Well . . . of course. If he really _was_ Wrath. . .

She's not my . . . She's well. No, not really. She's still holding on, if by a string.

So you've seen her recently? Al asked this, looking surprised.

I see her every month like clockwork. Sometimes she sees me, sometimes she doesn't.

It seems I have to go see her, then, Edward finished, and the two reunited Elric brothers left with two friendly farewells to me, and cold glares at Ira.

Once they were gone, I turned to Ira. We didn't say anything. Envy was dead, but it brought me no relief. I still had no memories of my father. I was still standing there, staring at Ira. It didn't change anything, and I felt like an idiot for ever thinking it might.

So Izumi is your mother? How come you've never taken me to see her?

I wish she wasn't my mother. But one can't choose their parents, can they? He said this so bitterly, so angrily, so guility, that I felt I had no choice but to drop the subject. It wasn't _my_ life, it was his. I had no right to barge into his privacy like that.

You didn't need to keep it from me, I began, but he cut me off.

I'm Wrath. I'm a homunculi, Elicia. If I had told you that when he first met I would have scared you off, no doubt about that. He lifted his sleeve and showed me the scar that seemed to connect the arm with his body. Elicia, after the door took away Ed's arm and leg from me, I killed an alchemist and used his arm. I was murdering people before you could even grasp the concept. With that he began to turn away, towards the door. I grabbed his arm before he could leave.

No. You're Ira, I responded firmly, my empty hand balled up into a fist. I made my nails dig into my flesh so I wouldn't cry. You're Ira, I repeated. Roy has killed people too, and he's like a father to me.

I have no soul, Elicia. I'm not even human. Don't compare me to your _precious_ Mustang.

Don't talk like this, Ira.

How else do you want me to talk? Hello, Elicia, how are things on this fine day? Would you like to come over and play? He laughed cynically.

Stop it, Ira, I yelled.

What do you expect from me?

I don't expect anything, Ira.

Liar.

Fine, I said as I let go of his arm. Leave me here then! If you really have no soul, then why did you make friends me with? Why _didn't _you scare me away when you had the chance? Why did you save me? I slapped my hands across my mouth, stubbornly trying to hold back the tears. I would not cry. I was not weak; I was strong like my father. I was the Knives Alchemist. I whispered through my hands, almost hoping Ira wouldn't hear me, if you really have no soul then why did I fall in love with you?

Father, I'm in love with one of the creatures that killed you. Do you hate me?

Ira didn't move. I turned away from him, and I refused to let a single tear escape. I had not cried for my mother, because I had long ago realized crying solved nothing. Crying wouldn't bring me my father, or memories of my father, or my mother, or Al, Ed and Ira's lost childhoods. I would not cry for Ira. I waited to hear the sound of a door closing.

Instead I felt his arms wrap around my waist, as he pulled me into his embrace from behind. I'm still a homunculi, Elicia, he murmured, his warm breath curling around my ear. This doesn't change things.

I still love you, I replied curtly. Of course this doesn't change things.

I barely remember that man. A touch there, a hug here, a flash there. But I don't need to remember him. He's there, somehow, in those moments after Ira's left the bed, right before a difficult decision, after a painful death, during a long and tiresome lecture.

Everyone tells me I remind them of my father.

Good.


End file.
